


Your Eyes Are My Sunrise

by patchwork_daydreams (orphan_account)



Category: Captain America (Movies), Marvel Cinematic Universe
Genre: Bucky is a secret snuggler, Christmas, Fluff, M/M, Natasha Is a Good Bro, Romance, Sam and Bucky banter, Sam is a Sweetheart, Steve is clueless, iceskating
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-07-20
Updated: 2016-07-20
Packaged: 2018-07-25 15:50:11
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 9,618
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/7538677
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/orphan_account/pseuds/patchwork_daydreams
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>“Can you pass me the last slice?” Bucky says, motioning to the box next to Sam.</p><p> He’s not sure what makes him do it – maybe some last ditch attempt to break this weirdness between them – but Sam picks up the remaining slice of pizza and stuffs the whole thing into his mouth.</p><p>“What last slice?” he asks thickly, through his mouthful of pizza crust.</p><p>A smile breaks onto Bucky’s face, and Sam thinks thank god. He holds his gaze, just a little too long, and is surprised when Bucky responds by glancing very deliberately down, running his eyes down Sam’s body. Holy fuck, what is this?</p><p>“Dick,” Bucky mutters after a moment, his eyes flicking back up to Sam’s face, and quirking an eyebrow.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Your Eyes Are My Sunrise

It begins in the heat of battle, this thing between them. Sam’s doing his best to keep up with the team, but it’s hard work; he’s just a regular guy, and aside from Barton, everyone else on the team is genetically enhanced, a Russian superspy or using weaponised suits. And the Taskmaster has just about got the measure of them all, which is making this whole thing a damn sight harder than it should be.

So he’s doing his best, swinging his punches and dragging the Taskmaster’s army high into the sky – the only advantage he has – when there’s a thunderous whirring coming towards them out of nowhere. And then a voice is yelling out;

“Wilson, behind you!”

He follows the voice, instead of the instruction – where have his military instincts gone? - and finds himself face to face with Bucky. And there, right in the middle of the chaos, Sam finds himself frozen and unable to move. Bucky is breathing heavily and sweeping his hair back from his face and Sam is stupidly, unbelievably caught. The sound drops out of the world for a moment as Bucky’s eyes bore into his and then suddenly he is shaking Sam’s arm and the spell is broken.

“Wilson goddammit, they’re on us!”

And finally Sam whirls round to see a whole squadron of flying things heading straight for them. Steve, Wanda and the Hulk are grappling with the Taskmaster himself and right now it’s just him and Bucky facing this tide of terror.

“Room for a couple more?” the familiar voice of Tony Stark comes from above, and thank god there he is with Rhodey, ready to fight.

Then they are up in the air, grappling and struggling against these winged henchmen. Sam is shooting and wheeling and ducking, trying anything to drag them out of the sky. Bullets whistle past him from the ground as Bucky picks them out from the ground, one by one, like shooting fish in a barrel. They’re thinning out the pack slowly but surely, and Sam feels a sense of victory. They might actually stand a chance at beating the Taskmaster.

The thought has barely entered his mind before he hears a rushing sound and he is struck by a massive blow. A searing heat spreads across his chest and face, and suddenly he is pitching forward, falling out of the sky in a sickening spiral. He hits the ground with a crash and the pain is like a bright light, taking over his vision.

“Shit! Wilson!”

The last thing Sam sees before he blacks out is Bucky dropping to his knees beside him. Those icy blue eyes burn into his and then the world swirls slowly into darkness.

 

 

Turns out it’s quite nice to have all the Avengers gathered around your bedside, even if they are pissed as hell at you. Sam blinks slowly as the world rights itself, his eyes travelling around the room from Steve sat by his bed, to Bruce and Vision hanging back by the door. At least Wanda doesn’t seem angry at him, she just looks relieved.

“Man, you are one lucky son of a bitch,” Rhodey says, grinning. “Just a broken arm after that fall? I broke my spine last time I fell that far.”

“Yeah, and I’m still sorry about that, even if you bring it up every ten minutes,” Sam snarks back, wincing at the pain in his side.

“Not as sorry as you’re going to be,” Natasha appears in the doorway, arms folded and a serious expression on her face.

“Come on Nat, give the guy a break,” Steve says quickly. “He got knocked out of the sky.”

“And he would have been fine if he didn’t insist on flying in a damn tshirt and jeans,” she retorts, striding over and smacking Sam upside the head. “Are you feeling alright?” she adds, checking him over.

“I didn’t know you cared,” Sam smirks, “You’re secretly a softie under all the menacing looks and kickboxing.”

Bruce snorts quietly at the back of the room. Natasha turns to glare at him, and as she does, Sam notices that the rest of the Avengers are looking rather worse for wear. Wanda’s got a black eye and Clint’s wrist is all bandaged up, and actually, now he thinks about it, Tony and Bucky aren’t in the room.

“I – uh, what happened after I blacked out?” he asks with trepidation. “Stark and Barnes, did they make it-?”

“We got him,” Steve beams. “It took a while, but he’s locked up now. Fury’s on his way with Hill and Sh- uh Agent Carter to take him before the Council.”

And don’t worry,” Natasha interjects. “Tony and Bucky are fine. They’re just trying to fix Bucky’s arm right now.”

“Wait, you left them alone?” Steve looks panicked.

Natasha rolls her eyes and flops onto the foot of Sam’s bed.

“Relax, Rogers. If Tony was going to kill Bucky, he’d already have done it.”

She has a point. It’s been six months since Bucky came back from Wakanda, and Tony, despite being a total ass for the first four of those, has actually forgiven him and moved on. Steve still looks worried, but Sam reckons uncharitably that Steve probably thinks it suits him to look compassionate and troubled.

“So what now?”

“We’re all on R&R until the next catastrophe,” Clint grins, “Thank god.”

“You just need to be careful with that arm,” Bruce adds quietly. “I put in a lot of pins to set it in place. It’ll take a couple of months to heal back up properly.”

Sam looks at his well-plastered arm and sighs. Great, out of action again. At least the others aren’t jetting off on any more missions for a while.

 

 

It quickly becomes apparent that rest and relaxation means that everyone heads off to their own homes and to do their own thing. Clint goes back to his farm, Tony back to New York and Pepper, Bruce and Natasha disappear without a word, and Steve goes back to D.C. with Sharon. Sam would go to his own apartment in D.C. but he honestly can’t think of anything lonelier. Even when he lived there full time, he hated the quiet echo of its empty rooms. And honestly, the Avengers facility has come to feel more like home to him now. He likes being able to hear people coming and going; the murmur of conversation and the ringing of laughter. It makes the empty silence of the night seem smaller.

This time though, it seems quiet. It’s just him, Wanda, Vision and Bucky left behind, and the latter barely comes out of his room. Sam is on a strict no-exercise regime until his bruising fades and his arm sets, and he is slowly going mad with having to stay still for so long. Within a week he’s pretty much read his entire book collection, which isn’t so impressive for a compulsive bookworm like himself. Unfortunately, it means he is only left with War of the Worlds, which is just too dreary to keep him occupied. He longs to be back out there training or even his counselling at the VA, but they gave him time off to recuperate too, and he is just so damn _bored_.

One night he’s in the kitchen, eating cereal out of the box and wondering which movie to watch to stave off his nightmare-filled sleep, when a sudden noise behind him makes him jump. The cereal box falls to the floor. Bucky is stood there, barefoot in sweatpants.

“What the hell man?!” Sam complains. “I’m going to have to put a bell on you or something.”

“Sorry,” Bucky looks apologetic. “I can’t help it. Sorry I made you spill that.”

Sam ignores him, crouching down and trying not to swear with the pain. Why is it so goddamn difficult to do stuff with one hand? The box skids away from his hand, scattering more cereal over the floor.

“Fucking hell,” he mutters to himself. “My stupid fucking arm.”

Then Bucky is there, scooping up the spilled cereal and righting the box, setting it on the counter and offering a hand to Sam. He takes it begrudgingly, hating to look weak.

“I get it, you know,” Bucky says after a moment. “It’s so fucking difficult to do things one handed. You don’t realise until you have to try it.”

“When-?” Sam begins, before remembering. “Wakanda, right? Yeah it sucks.”

"Well if you need a hand with anything, let me know. Natasha might laugh at you for knocking over cereal, but I won’t.”

He looks at Sam properly for the first time then, and there is something like a smile in his eyes. And Sam is suddenly grateful for his quiet help, and yet feeling stupid for needing it.

“I, uh, thanks,” he says roughly, rubbing the back of his neck in embarrassment.

“It’s okay,” Bucky says. “Why are you eating cereal in the middle of the night anyway?”

Sam just kind of stares at him, abruptly aware that this is the longest conversation he has ever had with the reclusive super soldier. Bucky seems to notice his confusion and ducks his head, looking abashed, like he’s not got permission to ask that kind of question.

“Sorry,” he says, almost reflexively. “It’s not my business.”

He sees it then; sees how Bucky’s experiences have manifested themselves as this hermit-like, apologetic and unconfident exterior. His training kicks in and he automatically wants to do anything he can to make it better. And talking, however mundane, is always a good start.

“It’s fine, don’t worry. I can’t sleep. Haven’t slept well ever since coming back,” he says after a moment.

Bucky’s eyes widen briefly.

“From Afganistan?” he asks tentatively. “Steve told me. I’m the same. Can’t close my eyes without seeing those _things_.”

His sudden vulnerability tugs at Sam’s heart a little. He wonders whether Steve has ever asked him about this. Probably not – for all his brave compassion, Steve is remarkably bad at the personal stuff.

“I used to enjoy sleeping before I went to war,” Sam says, deciding then and there to at least give Bucky an opportunity to depressurise from his experiences. “Now I just try and watch movies to try and put off the nightmares. I was going to watch Terminator, do you wanna watch it too?”

The look in Bucky’s eyes, it’s like Sam is the baby Jesus or some shit. It occurs to him that no one else has tried to include him in things like this for a while.

“I- would that be okay?” Bucky asks hesitantly. “I’ve not seen a lot of movies yet.”

And Sam being the secret softie he is, decides to make it his project to introduce Bucky to all the pop culture he’s missed out on.

 

 

As he slowly spends more time with Bucky, taking him through all the must-watch movies of the last century, Sam begins to wonder why it took him so long to have a conversation with the guy. Of course he knows why; he’d been so wary (and quite honestly _jealous_ ) of this guy that seemed to mean everything to Steve, and he’d been so sure that Bucky was going to turn out to be unfixable and hurt Steve. He regrets that ill-advised crush on Steve, now more than ever, not least because it prejudiced him against Bucky. And Bucky as it turns out is a pretty great guy.

He’s actually quite proud as Bucky starts to normalise a bit more rapidly, knowing that it’s because he is offering him some human contact. And he’s surprised to find that Bucky has a wicked sense of humour, deep below the layers of his carefully arranged disguise. The old Bucky, pre-war Bucky, is seeping through and Sam is delighted. The first time Bucky makes a joke, Sam nearly dies of surprise.

They’re watching Star Wars Episode VI in the lounge, both slightly uncomfortable on the sofa designed for people with normal proportions and not a facility full of superheroes. Sam likes a bit of space, and he’s been wiggling around for the last half hour, trying to force the sofa seat to expand and give him more butt space. And Bucky is slowly taking over the whole damn sofa.

“Hey man, would you mind moving your seat up?” he asks Bucky finally.

Sam is expecting a mumbled apology and a hurried shuffling along the sofa, so is totally taken aback when Bucky stretches his feet out with a shit-eating grin and deliberately rests them on Sam’s lap.

“No.”

And then suddenly Sam gets it, and he is laughing. Bucky is getting his revenge for that roadtrip with Steve in the VW Beetle, and Sam _loves_ it.

“You’re kind of an ass,” he tells Bucky, grinning.

Bucky laughs out loud, a bright and joyful and _unselfconscious_ laugh, that sounds so strange coming from his usually grim face. Sam kinda likes that laugh.

“This coming from the guy who’s actively tried to kill me several times,” Bucky retorts.

“That was one time, dude!” Sam rejoinders. “Okay, maybe twice, but still. You tried to kill me just as many times.”

“Well you didn’t move your seat up, Birdman, so don’t expect me to move for you,” Bucky says, turning back to the movie and leaving his feet resting in Sam’s lap.

Whoever would have thought the Winter Soldier would have such a good sense of humour? Sam is secretly very pleased that he’s coaxed it back out, and even more so that it was him and not Steve.

 

 

Finally Sam’s arm heals enough to allow him back to work. The others come back from their rest and relaxation, and suddenly the facility is a lot louder again. He likes the others being around, but he finds himself enjoying his late night movie education with Bucky a lot more. Squashing onto that tiny sofa with him is surprisingly comforting, and honestly who would have thought Bucky would be such a snuggler? It’s a bit weird, but he seems to sleep better when he falls asleep on Sam’s shoulder, so he lets it happen.

He tries a couple of times, to invite Bucky along to the VA meetings, knowing it might be good for him. Whilst the super soldier is looking more relaxed these days, Sam can still see the shadows in his eyes at times, and on the rare nights they don’t watch a movie, he hears Bucky’s cries of terror in the dark. But Bucky can’t be persuaded to leave the facility for non-mission purposes, so instead Sam takes to bringing home pamphlets and counselling books for him.

He’s never sure if Bucky’s actually reading them, until he comes home one day from New York, and finds Natasha and Bucky sat in the kitchen with the pamphlets all over the table, conversing rapidly in Russian. It’s so weird to hear them talking in another language, but strangely mesmerising; the languid lilt of vowels against soft and guttural consonants, the musicality of it. He doesn’t realise he’s staring until Natasha waves her hand pointedly in front of his face.

“Can we help you, Birdman?”

He shakes his head, trying to regain clarity.

“Sorry, no. I’m good. Just glad you’re, uh, reading those,” he says, nodding at the pamphlets.

Natasha gives him an unsettlingly knowing smile and turns back to Bucky. He isn’t sure what she’s implying, and knowing Nat, he’s not sure he’d like it even if he did.

 

 

Sam starts running again, and Bucky, being the dick he apparently always used to be, thinks it’s real funny to get Steve out running too. So it becomes an almost daily occurrence; Sam will head out early for a run, and before long, Bucky and Steve are out running too, with their oh-so-hilarious shouts of “On your left! On your right!” as they lap him on each side. This newly-recovered personality of Bucky alternately delights and frustrates Sam on an almost daily basis.

So he fights back, but gently, because the banter makes Bucky smile, and when he smiles he loses that hunted look. And life continues as before, only better; he runs, he goes to New York for meetings, he trains and he comes back to hang out with Bucky.

The seat joke is becoming a running theme to their interactions. The rest of the Avengers are clearly baffled as they throw insults back and forth, being deliberately unhelpful to each other, but it makes them laugh so who cares what the others think? Steve’s clearly not sure whether they’re being friendly or hate each other; he’s started to get this pinched look whenever they make the seat joke.

Somewhere along the way, they’ve both started needing each other more than they need Steve, and maybe that’s why he is so bothered. Sam wonders what it was like between them back before the war, and resolves one day to ask Bucky.

His chance comes sooner than expected. They’re watching Pulp Fiction one night, Bucky’s feet in Sam’s lap again, when Steve and Sharon come in from an evening out. Judging from the giggling and sounds of making out, they clearly think they are alone, and Sam finds himself frozen to the sofa in a kind of horror. In the dim halflight of the lounge, Bucky’s face is impassive, but something in him twitches and after a second he gets up and pushes the door shut, drowning out the sound of the couple.

“Doesn’t that just make you mad?” he says after a moment, looking at Sam. “Like, the wasted potential?”

Sam knows instinctively what he means. He’s always suspected it, given Steve’s dedication to finding Bucky.

“Yeah,” he says finally. “But Steve was always too wholesome to be after anything but the All American Girl.”

They are quiet, the silence only broken by Bucky sitting back down next to him, tucking his feet under Sam’s legs for warmth. It’s comfortable, but after a moment curiosity gets the better of Sam.

“Did, uh – did you and Steve ever -” he begins, unable to think how to phrase the question delicately.

Bucky laughs derisively, shaking his head. “No, never. I think he always knew, but it was the forties, and no one talked about that shit. I was busy dating as many girls as possible to get those thoughts out of my head.”

He looks regretful, and Sam can only imagine living in a time when your own desires and attractions were seen as wrong.

“Did you ever-?” Bucky returns the question.

“No, although I thought for a while it was headed that way,” Sam says matter-of-factly. “But he was so fixated on finding you that I realised where his priorities were. I hated you for that, for a while anyway.”

“Sorry,” Bucky says, his blue eyes wistful. “Although I kinda hated you too. I guess we’re both just people who mooned after him for a little too long.”

“Yeah,” Sam says, counting out names on his fingers. “You, me, Coulson, that guy from accounts, that scientist in Wakanda, and fuckin’ Rumlow. Oh and you can’t forget that freakshow, Zemo.”

“Jeez,” Bucky snorts, taking a swig of his beer. “That’s a fucking long list for the Steve Rogers fan club.”

Sam laughs, too loud, at how pitiful they’ve both been.

“Let’s face it,” he says drily. “We’re all a bit gay for Captain America.”

Bucky practically does a spit-take at that, face creasing up with laughter as beer trickles down his chin.

“Oh my god Wilson,” he splutters. “I’m ninety-seven, you gotta let me get used to that being okay.”

He looks so ridiculous that Sam can’t help but laugh. It feels good, somehow, to be sharing this Steve thing with Bucky. And he is enjoying this newfound companionable silence that has settled around them in the wake of such a revelation. Apparently nothing brings you together quite like being passed over by the same guy.

“Hey,” says Bucky after a few minutes, tapping Sam’s knee to get his attention. “That guy there kinda looks like Fury, don’t you think?”

As distracted as he is by Bucky’s hand against his knee, Sam turns to the screen. Bucky’s pointing out that actor with the curly afro, playing Jules, and actually, he’s right.

“Shit man, don’t ever say that to his face!”

 

 

As time goes on, Sam is less bothered by Steve and Sharon. It somehow stops mattering quite so much. He goes to work, he hangs out with Bucky, he trains with Natasha – something that never gets less painful – and he actually almost stops noticing Steve.

They’re in the middle of a team meeting about the United Nations summit and the Taskmaster, and Sam is cracking jokes with Bucky, half listening, only really there for the free pizza. He’s given up taking a key role in team negotiations; the memory of the Accords is enough to make him want to flee from anything involving the words diplomacy or discussion.

“They’re expecting us to be at the meeting, so we need to send a team,” Tony is saying.

“Perhaps not all of us, some might be less well received,” Steve agrees from the head of the table, and Sam stops kicking Bucky’s chair in surprise; he’d actually forgotten Steve was even in the room.

“I assume,” Bucky says flatly, from beside Sam, “that you mean that _I_ shouldn’t go. Wouldn’t want the Winter Soldier going in and screwing up international relations.”

Steve blanches, and there is a deafening silence as everyone looks instantly awkward and afraid. Natasha frowns and says something rapidly in Russian, at which Bucky shakes his head.

“I’m kidding,” he adds, to Steve. “Don’t panic.”

“Remind me never to play poker with you,” Tony levels a look at Bucky. “You are too damn unreadable.”

As they carry on with the meeting, Sam nudges Bucky’s leg with his foot.

“You alright?” he asks in an undertone.

“Fine,” Bucky nods, the ghost of a grin on his face. “I just like to wind him up. He seems to think I had my sense of humour removed with my memories.”

But there’s something in his eyes, as he turns to watch the meeting’s progress, that makes Sam a little worried. He knows Bucky still isn’t sleeping right, and maybe Steve being around is a constant reminder of the life he lost all those years ago.

In the end, it’s decided that Natasha, Steve, Rhodey and Tony will go, based on the logic that the world is still a little bit scared of both Bruce and Wanda, and Sam is completely disinterested in making nice with corrupt politicians. His inability to be diplomatic and civil to government leaders is becoming infamous amongst the Avengers.

“Also,” Clint says, unexpectedly; he doesn’t normally speak in meetings, “Laura and I would like to invite you all for Christmas.”

“That’s… nice of you,” Tony says, only the flicker of unease in his eyes as he remembers the tense circumstances under which the Avengers were last at the Barton farm.

“Ah whatever, man,” Clint shrugs. “It was Laura’s idea, I don’t give a shit about you ugly mugs,” he adds, winking to soften his words.

“Can I bring Sharon?” Steve asks, a little too keenly.

“Sure, everyone’s invited,” Clint looks around the room, focusing on Bucky. “You too, Buck, can’t have your first Christmas post-freezer alone here.” 

Bucky nods quickly, gaze dropping back to the tabletop, but Sam can see the little halfsmile that sneaks onto his face. Bless Clint for being so thoughtful. The idea of spending Christmas with everyone is pretty great; Sam and his mom were never much for celebrating it.

“The little ones will be insanely excited,” Natasha points out. “And Tony, are you going to bring Pepper? Laura, Wanda and I are going to need a bit more female company if we’re going to deal with the excess of testosterone.”

“Bet you weren’t complaining about the testosterone last night,” Clint mutters in a stage-whisper, prompting an unmanly giggle from Tony and Steve, and a deep blush from Bruce.

“If your kids weren’t so adorable I’d end you right now,” Natasha retorts, picking up her book from the table dramatically. “Now pass me the damn pizza.”

They all fall silent as they polish off the remains of the pizza.

“Hey Sam,” Bucky says suddenly, “isn’t that your mom?”

Sam turns, almost tipping out of his leaned-back chair. How would his mother know where the facility is? Then his eyes follow where Bucky is pointing – right at a stray pigeon wandering across the grass outside the window. He looks back at Bucky, who is maintaining an impressively straight face despite his laughter.

“Man you are such a dick,” Sam rolls his eyes, trying not to laugh as well.

Steve looks between them, worry painted across his face, but the others are laughing too.

“Nice one icicle,” Clint grins, raising his beer in a salute at Bucky. “I thought I’d heard all the bird jokes, but that’s a good one!”

And Bucky gets this look on his face, barely noticeable unless you know him well, like he’s just so pleased to get a compliment from Clint. Sam can’t help the smile that breaks onto his face at Bucky’s happiness.

One by one, the Avengers peel off to head home or to bed. Bucky, always glad for an easy escape, gets up quickly and leaves the room, giving Sam’s chair a good final kick as he passes. Sam pitches forward, balance gone.

“Dick,” he says, smiling in spite of himself.

Bucky flashes a grin back before disappearing out of the room.

“Would you just make out with him already?” Natasha says from across the room, clearly just pretending to read that book.

Sam inhales most of his beer at that. “Wh- what the hell? What are you talking about?!” he splutters, staring around to check if the others have heard her.

Natasha’s eyebrows, just visible over the book, are crinkled together in amusement.

“Come on Wilson, it’s obvious. I’m sure he wouldn’t mind, it’s not as if waiting around for Steve is going to help either of you. That ship has sailed, my friend.”

Sam is lost for words, practically choking on the implication. After a second, Natasha lowers the book.

“Just be gentle with him,” she says, smiling with kindness disguised under mocking. “He’s not been flirted with since 1945, and times have changed.”

 

 

Natasha’s words follow him around for days, needling at his thoughts and making him overanalyse everything with Bucky. But he’s fine, totally. She’s just spreading shit, classic Nat. It’s just that now he finds himself acutely aware of Bucky’s presence in every room.

It’s starting to get cold now, as the days roll on into December. Bucky starts to get this hunched look about him, and his nightmares get worse, Sam notices. They stay up to watch movies more often now, because Bucky starts to look anxious and hunted when the sun goes down, like he’s afraid of what he’s going to see. When he falls asleep on Sam’s shoulder now, he clings on, like he’s afraid of slipping away. It makes Sam’s chest hurt to see him like this.

Day and night seem to become two separate worlds. When the sun is up, Bucky is argumentative, funny and active – sparring with Natasha, throwing shitty banter at Sam, helping Clint plan his latest DIY project. But at night, he is small and scared, afraid of his own reflection, and the arm that Hydra gave him. He cries out in Russian, repeating the words of his trigger and wrestling with formless demons. Natasha is wearing that pinched, worried look too now. They all are. What if Bucky can’t come through this?

Eventually, Sam figures it out. It’s the cold and the dark. The oncoming winter is triggering Bucky’s memories of the trauma he experienced, and it’s tearing him apart. So Sam sets about making it easier. He lends Bucky his sweaters and thick socks, and fixes the thermostat to be just that little bit warmer. And he finds a nightlight, which Bucky protests against vehemently, saying he’s not a damn kid, but relents when he realises it actually makes the nightmares a bit better.

But still, they are watching movies most nights now, chasing away the shadows with the blinds drawn and the lights on. Sometimes Natasha joins them, feigning an interest in whichever movie they’ve chosen, even though they all know that she’s just there to check up on her comrade. And, once she knows that Sam’s ideas are helping, she’s definitely using the movies as an opportunity to mock Sam a bit more about Bucky.

She waves away their offers of a seat on the sofa because “you two are just so damn cute curled up on that thing”. And Sam, feeling suddenly uncomfortable about Bucky’s feet tucked under his thigh, shoots her death glares as she settles into the decidedly-less comfortable arm chair on the other side of the room, a smug look on her face. The woman is unrelenting in her teasing, but Sam knows that underneath the scheming bravado, Nat is just as glad as he is that Bucky’s fighting his demons.

 

 

And for a few weeks, that seems to be the limit of her teasing. Sam can deal with that level; it’s mostly easy to ignore. He limits his Bucky interactions to late night movie watching, because that way he can pretend he’s just helping him through the PTSD and can ignore Natasha’s implications, which are all ridiculous by the way. Him, flirting with Bucky? What a crazy idea.

And that seems to be a manageable strategy. But early one frigid morning in early December, Sam is throwing some food into his backpack and preparing to head off to the train station, when Natasha appears in the doorway, dragging Bucky.

“Good morning, Birdman,” she says, an unnerving smile on her face.

“What do you want?” Sam is instantly on guard; that smile usually means trouble.

“Well, seeing as you’re heading into the city today, I thought you could take Bucky with you,” she smirks. “He’s been wanting to go to one of your VA meetings for a while, and he’s not been in the city since the 40s, so why not combine the two and take him on a tour of 21st century New York?"

Behind her, Bucky looks apologetic. Sam sighs. He knows exactly what she is trying to do, and it is way too early for that shit.

“It’ll be fun,” Natasha smiles. “Anyway, we’re all heading off to The Hague later so you might as well take him out for the day. We’ll be in a meeting and you guys can have fun on your-” she mouths the word _‘date’_ at Sam, “- daytrip.”

“Do I have a choice?” Sam asks resignedly, giving up on fighting the scheming. He’s already running late for the train.

“Nope,” she says merrily. “Come on, I’ll drop you both at the station.”

 

 

It’s a bitterly cold day and Sam is already regretting allowing Nat to get her own way. He climbs out of the car after Bucky and turns back to glare at her, furiously gesturing across his throat with his hand; _I’m going to kill you!_

She just beams back, waving.

“Have fun guys, bring me back a souvenir!”

Sam huffs, hunching his shoulders up against the cold and marching into the station.

“You uh- we don’t have to go,” Bucky says cautiously, following. “I mean, not if you don’t want to. You don’t need to be on Bucky Watch, I’m not going to go rogue again.”

He looks a little crestfallen though, beneath the almost expressionless mask he normally wears, wrapped up in a coat too big for him and a woollen hat. Sam feels like he’s just kicked a puppy. Damn it.

“Nah, it’s alright man,” he says, smiling in spite of himself. “I don’t mind. It’ll be fun.”

 

 

Bucky is silent on the train ride to New York, staring out of the window, his blue eyes clouded with something like anxiety. Sam frowns, worrying that Natasha is putting too much pressure on him to cope in the city. New York in December isn’t exactly the quietest place. He worries the whole way there, only pretending to read through his meeting notes. He doesn’t notice the way Bucky’s eyes travel over to him every so often, a small smile tugging at his lips.

As it turns out, the day’s VA meeting is practically the best meeting for Bucky to come to; survivor’s guilt and PTSD are on the agenda. Sam shouldn’t be surprised – Nat’s that much of a creeper that she knows everything, but still, he is impressed that she thought about it. Bucky sits near the back during the meeting, his expression unreadable, but as they leave the VA building, Sam can see that something has lightened in Bucky’s face, his posture. Four years of counselling work has taught him not to press for response after such a meeting, but Bucky is surprisingly forth-coming.

“That was really good,” he says quietly. “Can I come next week too?”

Sam can’t help the grin that breaks across his face, but he downplays the momentousness of this announcement. Never make steps forward in the recovery process a big deal, he knows that.

“Sure,” he says, shrugging casually. “If you like. Wanna grab some lunch?”

 

 

“Dude, no way has this pizza place been open since 1940,” Sam stares in shock at the frontage of what has always been the best pizza take out in Brooklyn.

“As if you used to work here,” Bucky says, equally shocked. “Why did you never say you were a Brooklynite? I wouldn’t have hated you so much if I’d known.”

Sam snorts.

“Pretty sure you’d still have hated me, Mr ‘I’ll follow Steve til the end of the line’,” he snarks, half serious.

“Look who’s talking, Birdman,” Bucky retorts, elbowing him in the side. “Jeez this place looks different to how I remember.”

Sam catches the awed look in his eyes, and is suddenly seized by a great idea.

“Hey, we’ve got some time. Do you want to explore 21st century Brooklyn?”

 

 

Brooklyn’s changed a lot in the ten years since Sam moved out, so he can’t imagine how different it must be for Bucky. But judging from the awed expression on his face, it’s almost unrecognisable. Sam shows him the street he grew up on, and then Bucky takes him down East 39th, by the cemetery, and shows him where he and Steve used to live, just three doors down from each other. And he gets this expression on his face, all sad and wistful, and it makes Sam’s heart hurt a little. He reaches out and rests his hand on Bucky’s shoulder, a comforting gesture, that he leans into a little.

After a second, Bucky shakes his head, like he’s trying to shake out the memories.

“Anyway, that was all a long time ago,” he says, moving away from Sam’s touch. “Let’s go somewhere else.”

Their meandering path takes them back towards Manhattan, crossing through Prospect Park near the museum. Sam feels weird being back here, like this is a strange dream. He’s made his home all over the world since leaving Brooklyn, and being back feels a little like being stuck in a cage.

“I remember this place,” Bucky says suddenly.

“Dude, it’s like the biggest park in Brooklyn, of _course_ you remember it,” Sam rolls his eyes.

“No, man,” Bucky grabs his arm, a far-off look in his eyes. “I came here the night before I went to the Front; the Stark Expo was here.”

Sam’s a little in awe of the dreamy look on Bucky’s face, but he can’t let the Expo thing slide.

“Oh my god, I knew you were a nerd,” he laughs. “You spent your last night before going to war at a _science convention_? I feel so cool next to you.”

Bucky punches him in the arm, a little too hard.

“There was a flying car, it was really cool,” he says earnestly, grinning. “I love that stuff.”

“You’re too cute,” Sam snorts, before he realises what’s he’s just said.

“You think I’m cute, huh?” Bucky raises his eyebrows, a complete shit-eating grin on his face.

“Oh shut the hell up, man,” Sam shoves his shoulder. “At least I’m not a massive nerd.”

That grin doesn’t leave Bucky’s face for ages though. And Sam’s trying really hard not to notice it. Natasha’s so not right about this.

“We used to have snowball fights here,” Bucky says. “Steve always took a pounding, he was so shrimpy. I used to spend the whole fucking time checking he wasn’t freezing his ass off or having a damn asthma attack.”

“I still can’t picture Steve as a midget,” Sam chuckles. “He was what, _this_ big?”  he gestures to his shoulders.

“Shorter,” Bucky snorts, pushing Sam’s hand down another three inches or so. “I’m not kidding; he was a shrimp.”

“Oh my god, I’ve gotta see a photo,” Sam laughs, “I am never letting him live that down.”

It’s chilly in the park, so they hurry back towards the Brooklyn Bridge, shoulders hunched against the cold. It reminds Sam of winters as a child.

“Hey man,” he says, suddenly curious. “Did you ever go iceskating at the Rockefeller? I used to go every Christmas with my mom. I always wondered whether they did it in the 40s.”

Bucky shrugs his shoulders, looking a bit confused.

“I’ve never been iceskating, he says slowly. “We were never allowed to as kids, on account of Steve being so fragile, and it kinda stopped seeming important once the war started. What’s it like?”

The childlike look of curiosity on his face is enough to make Sam completely change his plan of heading back to the facility.

“Right, that’s it. How can you have lived in New York and never iceskated?” he says incredulously. “Come on, we’re doing it now.”

 

 

As it turns out, for someone who used to be known as the Winter Soldier, Bucky is downright terrible at moving on ice. They’ve been on the rink at the Rockefeller Center for all of ten minutes and he has already fallen over at least as many times. Sam is loving this experience; why didn’t they think of it earlier?

“Be careful,” he wheezes through giggles, bent double at the waist with laughter as Bucky decks it once again. “You need to watch out on the ice at your age. Might break your hip, gramps.”

Bucky gives him an exasperated look from the floor, and suddenly, before Sam realises what’s happening, he’s tackled him round the knees, bringing him to the icy ground with a crash.

The other skaters on the rink give them a wide berth as they lie there in hysterics.

“Dude,” Sam splutters, “who needs the Taskmaster? You on an ice rink is just as dangerous!”

So they end up skating round together, hands entwined. Because that’s the way you’re supposed to do it… right? Particularly if one of you has no balance to speak of. It’s surprisingly peaceful, looping round the rink in circles, and Bucky’s actually almost getting the hang of moving his feet independently, but he’s still clinging on to Sam for dear life. Sam tries not to think of what Natasha would say of their joined hands.

 

 

An hour later and they are freezing, clothes still damp from their tumble on the ice. Sam’s all for calling it a day and finding a really hot cup of coffee before they get the train back home, but Bucky’s been bitten by the tourist bug. Sam can’t say no to that excited face, when Bucky suggests taking the ferry. It might be fun to see the city from the river anyways.

But the weak winter sun is slowly slipping down the sky, and the breeze on the ferry is icy. Sam is so freaking cold now, pushing his hands deep into his pockets to keep them warm. He’s regretting agreeing to this idea, and almost suggests that they go inside. But Bucky is leaning over the railing in his too-big beanie hat, transfixed by the sight of the skyscrapers passing them by and Sam doesn’t have the heart to break the moment.

He shivers, huddling further into his coat, as the sun dips into the horizon, behind the looming Statue of Liberty. Lady Liberty is cast in a soft orange glow and the water turns to molten gold beneath her.

And then Bucky turns to him in amazement, and oh god, the way the dying light hits his eyes, they are turned hypnotic, ocean deep, and Sam finds himself staring stupidly as he sees, as if for the first time, the bewildering _beauty_ of the man before him. The wind ruffles up his hair, tossing it across those astonishing cheekbones, and Bucky pushes it back, smiling at Sam; a proper, luminous beam. God, how is Sam only noticing this now? He is struck dumb with the gravity of this realisation.

“Have you _seen_ this view?” Bucky is gesturing expansively across the open water before them. “Jeez, how did I never do this before?”

Sam shakes his head, trying to clear his thoughts like a dog shaking itself free of water, and forces a smile onto his face.

“Right?” he says, hoping his voice isn’t shaking like the rest of him is. “It’s incredible.”

Later, on the train home, Bucky falls asleep against his shoulder. And Sam, he sits there motionless, his head and his heart ablaze with new feeling and confusion. The weight of Bucky’s head against his shoulder, and the warmth of his body against Sam’s, well Sam never wants to be away from that feeling. He looks down at Bucky’s peaceful face and realises Natasha was right. Fuck, he is in so deep.

 

 

When the others get back from Europe a few days later, Natasha doesn’t ask any questions, and Sam doesn’t say anything, but she gets this look on her face; a smug, contented look, and she is always smiling when she sees the two of them together. It’s a little unnerving.

Sam, meanwhile, can barely breathe when Bucky is in the same room. Sharing the sofa with him while they watch movies is becoming an exquisitely torturous experience. Everything in him wants to reach out and kiss him, to _hold_ him, but god this is all just in his mind, and Bucky is totally oblivious, right?

The one and only time he voluntarily discusses it with Natasha, she tells him that she doesn’t know how Bucky feels. Sam tells her she’s a useless damn spy, but he gets the feeling that Bucky is unreadable on purpose. There was a time, before that ferry ride, before Sam’s world flipped upside down, that he could read Bucky, even through that impenetrable mask. But he can’t anymore, it’s like he lost that ability the second he became emotionally invested in what Bucky was thinking.

But as much as he can’t bear to be around Bucky unless totally necessary, he can’t help himself. He finds himself wandering past the gym a little too often to be casual when Bucky and Nat are training. It’s almost unconscious; he is mesmerised by the whirling jumps and leaps the two perform, crouching low to strike blows at one another – some complex training learnt in the Red Room, something neither will ever speak of. They are both grim-faced, determined and unsmiling, spinning round each other in an endless, violent dance. But Sam likes to watch the end of training too; the part where the two stop and warm down with tai-chi. He likes to watch Bucky’s strong back muscles shift underneath his now-damp vest, the power in his arms and legs as he executes the moves with a perfect stillness and precision.

Holy fuck it’s weird though, and Sam kind of hates himself for being such a teenager about this. But it’s totally pointless; if you’ve always had a thing for Captain America, would you choose the broken-winged birdman? Sam knows _he_ wouldn’t.

 

 

One day though, he wanders past the gym, and finds Bucky alone, administering lethal blows to the punch bag. He freezes, kind of hypnotised with fear and longing, and then, as if he feels Sam’s gaze, Bucky turns round. Shit.

But he’s smiling and waving him in, so Sam pushes the door open cautiously.

“Come on then Birdman, you and me, let’s go.”

He’s sort of _smirking_ at Sam, and his hair is bundled up in a bun, and his tshirt is sticking to his chest in an undeniably hot way, and fuck it, Sam can’t do anything but nod and step into the line of fire.

Bucky unwinds the tape from his hands, dropping it to the floor behind him, and beckons Sam forward to the crash mat-covered area in the centre of the gym. Sam’s never fought Bucky before, but he’s sparred (and lost badly every time) with Natasha so he has a feeling he already knows how this will go down. But he raises his fists just in time to block a lightning-fast jab from Bucky, ducking and returning his own, fast.

Bucky fights low to the ground, swiping at Sam’s core, fast and dangerous, and it’s all Sam can do to block the blows. His broken arm is still twinging and it’s slowing him down, not that he’d admit it to Bucky. He kicks out, catching Bucky square in the side and sending him tumbling back, but as the super soldier falls to the ground he flips out his leg and catches Sam behind the knee.

He lands on his back, winded, but feeling so much better. Nothing like the pounding of your heart in your ears to clear your head. Bucky looks concerned, holding out a hand to help Sam up, but Sam ignores it, jumping back to his feet.

“What, getting tired, gramps?” he goads, grinning.

Bucky snorts at the joke, flipping himself up effortlessly and launching a volley of jabs and crosses at Sam. Sam blocks the blows, throwing in a hook of his own, but Bucky throws his elbow up hard, like a knife, catching Sam on the side of the head. As Sam reels, head spinning, Bucky brings his elbow back down, just as Sam ducks away, sending it glancing off his shoulder. He’s off balance, and Sam takes advantage of this to kick out, aiming for Bucky’s knee. Bucky crumples to the floor, and Sam leans back to catch his breath, but suddenly Bucky’s grabbed his leg - he should really be used to that move by now - and Sam lands hard on the floor, Bucky pinning him to the mat with his metal arm.

“Do you yield?” Bucky asks, breathing heavily but smirking all the same.

Holy shit, Sam has never been so turned on by a sweaty guy in the gym. And Bucky is about to feel _exactly_ how turned on he is any moment now. Shit. Sam reacts instinctively – poor choice – and grabs Bucky’s hair in a decidedly sexual way, before panicking and pushing with all his weight so that they flip over and Bucky is on the floor.

“Do you?” he sasses back at the super soldier pinned beneath his thighs.

Well fuck, there’s almost no hiding it now. And surely he must be imagining it, but something flickers in Bucky’s eyes, which widen with something like want. God, he could just reach down and –

The gym door slams open and abruptly, that light vanishes from Bucky’s eyes. Sam rolls off and leaps to his feet, turning to see Natasha entering the gym.

“Hey boys,” she says, looking curiously at the two of them.

Oh god oh god oh god. Sam needs to get out of here, what a fucking mistake.

“Hey Nat, I was just on my way out,” he mumbles, all but running past her out of the gym, trying to desperately to hide his badly-timed boner.

As he barges through the door, he doesn’t see how confused and disappointed Bucky looks.

 

 

Two hours, and one very _very_ cold shower later, Sam emerges from his room, feeling calm enough to deal with the situation without acting like a goddamn teenager. Someone’s ordered pizza again, and everyone’s gathered in the lounge to eat. He slopes in as quiet as possible, heading to the fridge to grab a beer; jeez does he need alcohol right now to deal with his embarrassment. Across the room he catches Natasha giving him a suspicious look, and he reflexively looks for Bucky. The latter is sat on the sofa, next to Wanda, looking rather subdued. Bucky looks up and, seeing Sam there, his expression clouds and he drops his gaze back to the floor. Oh shit.

As they all eat, discussing Christmas and Laura’s Secret Santa plan, Sam can’t help glancing over at Bucky repeatedly. He is sat there, completely silent, a strange expression on his face. Sam feels terrible. It’s definitely his fault; he’s just weirded Bucky out with his stupid crush. He needs to say something, to pretend like it’s all fine. Something, anything. But what?

They pass round the bowl filled with names, and Sam is barely paying attention to the name he draws – Thor, that’s easy right? – when Bucky stands up. He finally looks at Sam, and all of a sudden Sam can’t breathe.

“Can you pass me the last slice?” is all he says, motioning to the box next to Sam.

He’s not sure what makes him do it – maybe some last ditch attempt to break this weirdness between them – but Sam picks up the remaining slice of pizza and stuffs the whole thing into his mouth.

“What last slice?” he asks thickly, through his mouthful of pizza crust.

A smile breaks onto Bucky’s face, and Sam thinks _thank god_. He holds his gaze, just a little too long, and is surprised when Bucky responds by glancing very deliberately down, running his eyes down Sam’s body. Holy fuck, what is this?

“Dick,” Bucky mutters after a moment, his eyes flicking back up to Sam’s face, and quirking an eyebrow.

Sam stifles a chuckle, attempting to swallow his mouthful of pizza. Natasha levels a look at him across the room, almost audibly rolling her eyes, but Sam is altogether too transfixed by the suggestion framed in Bucky’s eyes. Something wordless passes between them, and when Bucky gets up, claiming tiredness, Sam knows what he is trying to say.

After a moment, Sam stretches, forcing a yawn.

“I think I’ll head to bed too,” he says to the room at large. “Gotta be up early tomorrow.”

“Night man,” Clint says absently, busy showing photos of his latest DIY project to Bruce.

Sam ducks out of the room before Natasha has a chance to catch his eye. As the door shuts behind him, he takes a deep breath. Oh god, he hopes he hasn’t misread this.

“Thought you were going to run away again,” Bucky’s voice makes him jump, looming out of the shadows in the hallway.

Sam opens his mouth to say something, but the way Bucky is stood there, cast in shadows and reflected light, words fail him, and suddenly he is crushing Bucky against the wall, kissing him with bruising force.

Bucky kisses like he fights; forceful, commanding and fluid, and he tastes of cinnamon and desire, and goddammit, Sam could do this for an eternity. His hands are knotted in Bucky’s hair, and Bucky’s teeth are grazing against his lips, and there are just too many layers between them. Sam’s melting and drowning all at once, lost in this spiralling moment of inevitability, lost somewhere between Bucky’s mouth and hands.

Distantly, a door swings open and they break apart long enough to realise that someone is coming down the corridor towards them.

“Shit!” Sam hisses, fumbling for the nearest door, thankfully Bucky’s room.

They duck inside, giggling and breathless. In the dim light of the room, Sam stares at Bucky, standing there with his hair messed up and his eyes burning and alive, and he knows he is totally, completely lost. He moves over to Bucky, reaching for that hair, that face, those eyes.

“Are you sure about this?” Bucky whispers hoarsely, his fingers at the hem of Sam’s shirt.

Sam’s response is lost in their meeting lips, and then suddenly his shirt is off, and Bucky’s is following suit, and they are lost in glorious sensation.

 

 

Sam wakes, tangled up in the sheets and Bucky. As he lies there for a moment, processing the night before, he realises he’s slept nightmare-free for the first time in months. Bucky’s face is peaceful and unlined by stress, and Sam just lies there, trying to take in the momentousness of this new situation. Damn, Nat’s going to be so smug.

As he lies there, struck motionless with amazement, Bucky stirs and his eyes flicker open. As he sees Sam, Bucky smiles slowly, still half-asleep, and his eyes are bright and clear, like the sea under a sunrise. Sam’s chest feels like it might explode and he can’t help the smile that breaks out across his face.

“God, you’re just fucking gorgeous in the morning,” Bucky says softly, reverently, an earth-shattering smile on his face. “Think you might be my favourite thing to wake up to, Wilson.”

And Sam’s heart just _leaps_ at that; he is so goddamn infatuated. Surely it’s not possible to feel this fucking happy? He doesn’t deserve this level of good karma. But he can’t help but smile like the lovestruck fool he is.

“What you grinning at?” Bucky asks, reaching out to touch his face. Sam is on fire under his touch.

“Nothing,” he shakes his head, smiling. “I just – you’ve turned me into a goddamn Disney movie, I’m so fucking _happy_.”

Jeez, the look Bucky gets then, Sam didn’t think it was possible for him to look any more radiant. It’s like staring at the sun.

“Natasha’s going to be thrilled,” Sam says, utterly transfixed by those eyes.

“Oh god,” Bucky groans, burying his face in Sam’s neck. “She’s going to be unbearable.”

Sam feels suddenly sick.

“I mean, we could pretend nothing’s changed,” he says, after a moment; that’s the thing about staring into the sun, you have to look away.

Bucky’s head comes back up from Sam’s shoulder abruptly.

“What do you mean? Are you saying you think this-” he trails off, his face crumpling a little, the sun going behind a cloud.

Shit.

“God, no, I didn’t mean that. It came out wrong,” Sam reaches out, touching Bucky’s cheek gently. “Fuck, sorry. I just meant we shouldn’t say anything to her. She’s never going to let us live this down.”

Slowly, hesitantly, the sun comes back out in Bucky’s eyes.

“You’re a piece of shit, Wilson,” he says, jabbing Sam in the ribs.

Sam grabs his hands, grinning; “You love it.”

“Damn straight,” Bucky says, rolling over and pinning Sam against the mattress. “Want me to show you how much?”

Fucking hell, Sam is like putty in his hands, falling apart in the most exquisite way. Who would have thought Bucky would be so _good_ at this? Things are just getting interesting when there is a knock on the door.

“Fuck me,” Bucky huffs in annoyance, breath hot against Sam’s hip.

“We could ignore them,” Sam suggests a little giddily.

“Barnes, you awake?” the voice of none other than Tony freaking Stark calls through the door. “Big news!”

Bucky sighs, coming back up from under the sheets.

“He’s not going to go away, is he?” he asks.

Sam shakes his head in resignation as Tony knocks on the door again.

“Barnes?”

“Gimme a sec,” Bucky calls out. “Quick, you’d better hide unless you want everyone to hear about this from Stark,” he adds to Sam.

Giggling at the ridiculousness of the situation, they leap up, Bucky pulling on his sweatpants and Sam diving into the closet.

“Looking a bit rough there, Barnes,” Sam hears Tony say.

He can almost see Bucky’s face as he nonchalantly replies; “Oh I didn’t sleep too good.”

Tony stays for too long, going on about his new AI tech that’s figuring out a new, synthetic skin arm for Bucky. And of course, Bucky’s thrilled about it, who can blame him, but Sam is freezing his ass off in this closet, literally, and right now he wishes that Tony wasn’t such a tech genius.

It feels like a million years, and Sam is pretty sure he’s never going to regain feeling in his limbs after this cramp, but finally Tony goes away. Bucky opens the closet door and falls about laughing at the sight of Sam crouched in there.

“Man, I hate you,” Sam scowls, too proud to accept Bucky’s outstretched hand.

“Anyone ever tell you how cute you are when you’re grumpy?” Bucky grins, dodging Sam’s swipe at him.

“I’m going to hurt you if you keep talking shit,” Sam gripes, smiling it spite of himself.

“Is that a threat or a promise?” Bucky quirks an eyebrow at him.

That’s it. Sam grabs him round the waist and they topple backwards onto the bed, laughing.

“Do you yield?” Sam straddles Bucky, pinning down his wrists.

Bucky snorts, trying to wriggle out of his grip.

“Come on Birdman, let me up. I need to shower,” he says, and then a wicked grin crosses his face. “Wanna join me?”

They use up nearly all the hot water.

 


End file.
